Big Dick Energy: A Meet-Cute Novel Page 3

  I pushed myself out of my chair, similar to how Catalina had done earlier when she’d been giving a demonstration, bracing my palms against the table. “Look dude, I’m sure in the office, you’re Mr. Big Shot. But here…” I reached out and yanked on the end of his tie, not sure what’d come over me but going with it. “You’re just another tool in a suit. And I don’t accept drinks from tools, tie or no tie. I can buy my own, just like I can afford my own car, my own French fries, and my own place.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Catalina and Ellie mouthing “French fries?” at each other. They so weren’t helping, but they’d given me a much-needed boost, and where was I again? That double whiskey had left my brain on the sloggy side.

  “I’m guessing that it’d be easier to buy all those things if you had your debit card,” Archer said, and I blinked at him. Was that some kind of odd trash talk I’d never heard of? If so, I didn’t get it.

  He held up two fingers, brandishing a debit card.

  My debit card.

  Everything inside of me shriveled up and died, and the heat of a thousand embarrassed suns burned my cheeks.

  “You left this. The bartender must’ve fried his brain with too many steroids because he didn’t think it’d be worth walking it over to you. Fortunately for you, this tool in a suit didn’t want you to find yourself somewhere you’d need your card and not have it. Or to go through the pain of canceling it and getting a new one. But don’t worry. I’ll never ever bother you again.”

  He Frisbeed the slim plastic rectangle onto the table, turned on his heel, and strode away. He had a great ass, too, one that filled out his suit pants nicely, and a groan slipped as I flopped into my seat. I felt like the meanest bitch ever, and not in a good, I’m-totes-crushing-it way.

  Catalina grimaced in my direction. “That was my bad, Pen. In good news, you’ll likely never see him again.”

  “I wouldn’t mind seeing him again,” Ellie said, and judging from the way she jerked and rubbed at her shin, she’d gotten the pointy tip of Cat’s stiletto. “My bad. But we can’t rewind time, and we’re no longer apologizing to men, so let’s turn that frown upside down and look at the bright side.”

  “There’s a bright side to being humiliated by one of the finest men who’s ever kinda sorta hit on me?”

  Ellie vehemently nodded. “Yeppers. Did you pay attention to the way he flung the card in your direction and stormed out like that?” I had, of course, as it would’ve been impossible to miss, but I excelled at reading Ellie, and she was only halfway through her point. Sure enough, she gestured toward the doorway that Archer York had charged through like a man on a mission—the mission of getting away from me. “Now that’s the perfect example of big dick energy.

  4

  Penelope

  As much as I believed in breaking stereotypes, Monday morning apparently didn’t feel the same way. I’d dropped my favorite eyeshadow, watching in slow motion as it shattered on the floor, and there weren’t any available parking spots near the office downtown, so I’d had to park several blocks away and then huff it in my tight pencil skirt and four-inch heels in order to arrive at time.

  In further proof my good girl shell wasn’t easy to shed, I’d picked at the pieces all weekend, obsessing over how stuck up I must’ve come across at the bar on Friday night.

  The way Archer had flung the credit card on the table replayed on a loop, along with the way he’d casually strolled away as if it was no skin off his very fine backside. I’d even tried to convince myself I was obsessing about his grand exit for research purposes.

  As Ellie pointed out, it was a prime example of the vibe I was going for. However, the regret that bubbled up said something else, and I needed to get better at suppressing it ASAP in order to pull off what I needed to today.

  So really acting like I didn’t give a shit was just practice, I thought as I punched the button to summon the elevator and raced inside. As I went to sip my lukewarm coffee from my to-go mug I used to help save the environment, the brown liquid leaked from between the cup and the lid and drippled onto my pale pink top.

  When I went to dab at it with my napkin, more coffee sloshed out and splattered my leg, the top of my foot, and the floor of the elevator.

  “Sorry,” I said toward the ceiling in case some security guard was watching the disaster that was my life on one of his myriad of computer screens. Then I remembered I wasn’t supposed to say sorry anymore.

  I squatted as demurely as possible—while I felt bad, I didn’t feel badly enough to flash the security guard to make up for it—and then set my cup on the floor of the elevator. I used my one tiny napkin to soak up what I could, crossing my fingers that karma wouldn’t punish me for prioritizing my leg and foot. “I really need to clarify if there are any incidents that deserve apologies,” I muttered. Surely there were instances that required expressing regrets.

  The elevator doors opened with a bing, and I popped up as quickly as possible. Then I had to quickly squat, retrieve my coffee mug, and rush it to the kitchen and drop it in the sink.

  “So far, so not good. Monday, I tried to give you a chance, but I now declare you the herpes of the business world.” One misstep and the grumpiness spread and took way too much effort to get rid of.

  I checked the time, pleased to find I had twenty minutes before our Monday morning meeting started. Which gave me ten minutes to readjust my attitude, so I wouldn’t end up shooting myself in the foot.

  Cat did once accuse me of making bulletproof coffee…

  Another silver lining? My ex-boyfriend now had his own office on the tippy top floor where he worked with his own team of people, fulfilling the contract I’d helped him land, so at least I wouldn’t have to face him today.

  I tapped my meditation app on my phone, planning on listening to the guided session on success that would remind me I was I strong, capable woman with great ideas.

  Then I’d slide into the conference room to prepare the presentation that’d prove to my boss that I was the woman to lead this project, and all by my lonesome at that.

  “As I’m sure you’ve all heard by now, the San Diego Pythons and city planning committee picked our firm for the design of the new downtown stadium. I’ve been courting them for two months, and it’s a huge project that affords a lot of opportuni—”

  The door to the conference room swung open, and I automatically glanced toward it. I did a double take, my throat tightening to the painful point, and if I had the capability of blinking, I’d try that, but my lids remained pried open in panic.

  It must be the stress of finally presenting the spiel I’d practiced countless times yesterday making me see things. Our latecomer was tall with sandy brown hair, and that description fit thousands upon thousands of dudes, right?

  But he also wore the hell out of a suit and raked his hand through his hair in the exact same way…

  “Everyone,” Mr. Bishop said, getting to his feet and beaming at the guy, and the reality of what was about to happen slammed into my chest like back in elementary school when my classmates picked me out of the dodgeball lineup. “I’d like to introduce you to Archer York.”

  When it came to fight or flight, my instincts chose to freeze, and just like the timid girl I used to be back then, I grimaced as it hit me, telling myself the pain would eventually recede.

  “He’ll be drawing up plans alongside of Penelope.” Mr. Bishop clapped him on the back like they were old chums, and that was the moment Archer York seemed to register my presence. Whereas my mouth hung open like a fish that’d been yanked from the water, his features remained all calm and preposterously collected.

  This couldn’t be happening. Karma, why me? I made it clear I was sorry about spilling my coffee for someone else to clean.

  “Talk about blowing a hole right through my condom,” I muttered, and shit, that was definitely aloud and not in my head. Ellie and I had adopted the saying from Cat, all three of us now using it whenever our plans g
ot shot to hell. I scratched at my suddenly itchy neck, doing my best to assure myself it’d be fine. I’d just explain I’d been in a bad mood the other night and tell him I was sorry that—

  Don’t apologize. Catalina had sent dozens of links with list upon list of tips. No saying I could be wrong, just my opinion, it’s out of my hands, or I hope that’s okay. No using I think, feel, or believe X, Y, and Z. No guessing or supposing. It was just the way it was, end of story.

  As looking people in the eye landed in the “musts category,” I leveled my gaze on Archer and Mr. Bishop and swallowed past the bitter lump of anxiety and regret lodged in my throat. “Nice to meet you. If you’ll take a seat, I’ll update you and the rest of the team on what the Pythons are looking for in their new stadium, as well as what the city wants us to consider.”

  Archer lifted an eyebrow, a hint of a challenge gliding along the curve, and I reminded myself that he wasn’t the only one looking his best today. The belt I’d secured around my waist emphasized my curves, and my patent pumps not only matched my top but could do serious damage, coffee splattered or not.

  I tapped my pen to my lip, and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he tracked the motion. A whorl of victory catapulted my confidence to the next level. “Afterward, I’ll gladly answer any questions you have.”

  There. Firm. A pinch cocky, too, but that was the point, right?

  Er, it was.

  Seriously, though. Of all the conference rooms in all the world, Archer York walks into mine.

  5

  Archer

  I scribbled on the digital notebook I’d brought with me, jotting down the finer points of Penelope’s presentation, along with her name. My jaw had about dropped to the floor when I’d swung my gaze toward the front of room and recognized the woman who’d shut me down harder than I’d ever been shut down before.

  I’d like to say I hadn’t thought about her since leaving the bar that night. If anyone asked, I’d stick with that lie, too.

  As someone who prided himself on being a good judge of character, I couldn’t believe how far off I’d been about her the other night. Sweet—hah! With that giant chip on her shoulder, I was surprised she didn’t walk lopsided. I’d only seen her strut a couple steps across the front of the room so far, and each time I’d paid way more attention to the snug skirt that highlighted her ass.

  Then I’d look down and find the words I’d written were illegible and ran off the paper. In order to show Doug he’d made the right call asking me to come work on this project, I needed to get my head right. Penelope sure thought she was a shark, but she was about to find out she was the tiger shark to my Great White.

  “Any questions?” she asked, fidgeting with her pen, clicking and unclicking it on her jaw.

  I rubbed my fingertips along my lower lip, volleying between throwing her off with a question she couldn’t possibly answer and biding my time. I didn’t want to look like an asshole in front of my new colleagues, as it was hardly the way to get the best from them. One of the many benefits of working as an independent contractor was that there were always opportunities around the next corner.

  The soccer complex was different. I was far from sentimental, but the Pythons held a special place in my heart for a couple reasons.

  “Awesome,” Penelope said, gathering up the folders and slim laptop from the podium. “Three members from the Pythons will come to the office later this week to discuss more of the finer details.” Her blue-eyed gaze returned to me, and damn that zing in my veins for being so eager. “I’ll make sure to catch up Arthur beforehand and show him the rough draft of my plans, so he’ll be ready.”

  “Archer,” I said, not buying for a second she’d forgotten my name, and she flashed me a tight smile. I should’ve prodded her with difficult question after another, showing off my superior knowledge of the Pythons so her coworkers, boss, and I could watch her unravel. Then she’d get the message that I wasn’t someone she wanted to fuck with.

  Unless we were referring to literal fucking and then… Not going there.

  “Pardon me.” She lifted her phone and typed into it. “I’ll make a note to help me remember. Originally, I thought I’d be working this project alone, so I hope you can keep up.”

  Her wince threw me off, her face dropping immediately afterword, as if I’d already disappointed her. Talk about being all over the place. “I mean…” She cleared her throat, swept her hair over her shoulder, and lifted her chin like the hoity-toity princess she was. “Team dismissed.”

  Everyone else filtered out of the room, and I slowly pushed to my feet. Penelope tucked her files and laptop under one arm and tugged at her black jacket as though it was a bulletproof vest.

  I rebuttoned the lower button on my own sports jacket and then placed my hands on the shiny conference room table. “So, we meet again.”

  “I…” She pursed her pouty lips, and I needed to stop looking at her mouth in order to remain as stern and professional as this situation called for. “A rather obvious statement. One we don’t have time for.” She tossed a purple folder in front of me, and I grinned at the label. She’d written san diego pythons in glittery silver ink.

  “Ooh, shiny lettering,” I said, and the folder was yanked out of my hand so quickly that the thick edges sliced the insides of my fingers. If I didn’t have a paper cut or five, it’d be a miracle. “What’s your problem?”

  “My problem?” Her voice pitched a couple octaves higher. “Big surprise, you stroll in late without bothering to do any research yourself and immediately mock the organization system I use, when I’m only attempting to catch you up on a project that I’d happily take on myself. Next up, you’ll accuse me of being emotional or dramatic simply because I expect you to put in effort. I’ve worked with a dozen guys just like you, Mr. York, so let’s just skip this song and dance and get our shit done. Mm-kay?” Again, with the forehead crinkle. “And that last question was rhetorical, so…yeah.”

  “Mr. York? For someone who couldn’t remember my first name, sounds like something stuck.”

  “Yes, and it’s the stick you have up your ass after I declined your offer to buy me a drink. Get over it. I brought in these clients and plan to blow them away with the blueprints I’ve been working up. I don’t need someone mansplaining my job to me, either, so save it.”

  In an attempt to redirect, I held up my hands in the classic I-surrender stance. “I’m just here to do the job I was hired to do. As for the bar… obviously, I never would’ve hit on you had I known we’d end up working together.”

  “Good to know you were planning on the hump and dump method.”

  “Good to know you’re the serious relationship type.”

  Once again, those pearly pink lips parted, so shimmery the overhead lights made them sparkle. “I never said anything about wanting a relationship, but I definitely pegged you right.”

  “Had there been any pegging, you wouldn’t be so uptight right now.”

  Anger flashed in those blue eyes, the same way it had back at the bar, and now would be the perfect time to remind myself that I liked sweeter, uncomplicated women. Not the showy ones who cared more about attracting attention, the way my own mother longed to do. With each husband Mom had married younger, and much more of a gap and she’d be fishing for dudes in fraternities while muttering all her namastes.

  Another point against the woman fuming across from me. I veer away from relationships that’d be inappropriate.

  On that point, I’d crossed the line with that pegging remark, and I opened my mouth to apologize. Any second the words would come out. Saying I’d done anything wrong was akin to admitting defeat, and I’d never been any good at either.

  “I’m not going to stand here and let you insult me just because I crushed your fragile little ego the other night,” Penelope said, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “I’ll email you the documents, notes, and other pertinent information I have on the client. Then you can organize it howev
er you like—I’m guessing it’ll be something super unique like a manilla folder and a scrawled label no one else can read.” With that razor sharp retort delivered, she spun toward the door.

  Don’t check out her ass, don’t check out her ass. “Wait.” Come on. You can do it. “That… My comment was…” As dangerous as that skirt, not that it was her job by any means to control where my gaze had gone, but I needed a moment to compose myself so I wouldn’t blurt out anything else that would bring about my own downfall. “Out of line.”

  There. I’d done it. I’d lift my fist and request a bump if I didn’t think she’d leave me hanging.

  “Sorry. You only get once chance at using your flashy-thingy, and you chose it at the bar.”

  My inhale got snagged between my throat and epiglottis, leaving me fighting a cough. I wanted to bask in the fact that she recalled our conversation the other night as well as I did, but that might send us into rough waters again. “Technically, I never whipped it out.”

  Her eyebrows arched so high they disappeared into her hairline. What the hell, mouth? We’d just agreed to avoid saying anything else improper.

  “I did not think through how that’d sound. Let me rephrase… Perhaps I could use it right now, and we could start over.” This job meant being up close and personal with the bigwigs who ran the Pythons, as well as possibly meeting a few of my favorite players. Since the project was yet another thing I refused to lose, I needed to figure out a way to work with this woman who clearly wanted my head on a spike.

  I extended my hand. “Hello. I’m Archer York, and I’m here to assist on drawing up plans for the new Pythons stadium. I’ve got a master’s in architecture and have worked and consulted on large commercial projects for the last seven years.”

  She squinted, her suspicion clear. Then she crossed her arms, and I lowered my extended palm and focused on a spot over her shoulder so I wouldn’t give into my curiosity about whether or not it emphasized her cleavage. “Penelope Jones. I don’t need to justify my position with titles or my degree. I’ve worked here at BJB Architecture Firm for nearly five years and spent the last two months courting the Pythons in order to get a chance to design their new soccer complex.”